


Unconsidered

by worldturtling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, M/M, Reflection, past relationships reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldturtling/pseuds/worldturtling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny looks back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconsidered

 

 

_"I don't regret it for a second."_

_-_

When he thinks about it, he was a fool. 

-

He helped his pa fish. More than that, he helped him hunt for the good things. Birds deer, boar. No, maybe not boar. He was young enough to believe they’d catch lions if they looked long enough. He went and got shot, but his ma raised him too. Six brothers and sisters, he grappled with the best of his brothers and fished shrimp. He fished until his ma’s hands got shaky. Then he cooked. He cooked her recipes like she told them in her long rounded lettering. He cooked until his sisters could hold the big spoon. Then he looked at the café, came on as a cook there. Earned money like they were supposed to, and got them legitimized papers.

He can’t remember his mother’s name anymore. He can’t remember his sisters either. That might be the problem with selling your soul to the new ship in town. The one promising wealth and food, but no one sure the kind of food and wealth they led people into that people never came back out of.

He had a wife, see. And a daughter. Patrons of the café liked him. He liked them. He was a people person, all in all.

He wasn’t sure what caught their eye. Was it his teeth? He always kept them cleaned like the school masters had told them to. Was it the smell of his kitchen?

But they took him one night. He wasn’t at home, and he thanks god to this day for it. He was at the café, chatting up the travelers, two pretty ladies and their cousins. A dark gentlemen watched from the corner. At closing time, he only said one thing.

“You’re too fresh to resist,” and then he backed Benny against the stove with strength Benny didn’t see as possible, and pressed a bleeding wound into his mouth. The hot blood tanged and scorched Benny’s throat. He thought for sure this would be the death of him, some exotic disease. Then he didn’t think at all. He closed his eyes.

-

Purgatory was certainly cleaner than Dean made it seem. It didn’t rain blood and mud and dirt. It had all the attributes of a normal woodland, with supernatural creatures. Somehow, Dean touted around as if the browning blood and the grime were beauty marks on him. It made Benny uncomfortable to see the blood cracked and dried, not because he was a vampire, but because he knew how uncomfortable it’d felt on his skin in his youth.

-

Sorento is the one who turned him, he learns names later. And relearns, and relearns and reads and works and gets whipped to work harder. But the reward is red. It’s blood and flowing and hunger sated. Screaming children, grandfathers and young men alike, Benny couldn’t see a difference between what they spilled except perhaps in quantity.

-

The first time he sees Dean is not the first time Dean sees him. And he catches Dean’s trail long before that, but the kid wasn’t subtle. He was human, but what was scary was he wanted you to find him.

Benny had never encountered any Deans before, hunters and the like. He’d been isolated and kept at sea far too long, and their design was far too perfect.

He sees Dean though the tree line, just a wisp. He’s watching a head roll off a monster’s body, following it.

He’s not alive, but he feels excitement thrumming through him. The one who he’d gotten this far looks to Benny. Even monsters needed companions. Benny nods with promise of backup, and the guy goes for it, Benny wondering if the human will clear the path of his head like so much grain.

He doesn’t. He falls.

Benny knows this is a perfect opportunity as any.

-

Dean does not taste like what Benny remembers of life. No ocean or fresh air, he doesn’t kiss him in laughter except for in those moments rarer and more rumored than a green flash. He’s not heavy with steady meals, he flinches in the dark sometimes when Benny cups his face. The things he takes into him are not crisp, not fresh, not new. They are used, fast fading, old.  Instead, when Benny gathers him in his arms, there’s a salty bitterness to his taste. Something preserved and pickled. As he comes lose, his scent is salted whiskey, motor oil. He perspires like a living thing, beads of sweat rolling down his neck and tickling his spine, but even then he’s wound tighter than a coffin, reserved in all but those few ways.

His green eyes flash discomfort in the dark when Benny turns him over with a hand on his readily parting thigh. There’s something present about seeing someone on their back, belly up, something raw and dangerous. Among some creatures, the flash of the stomach means submission. But he never feels like that’s what this is about with Dean. Dean has too many faces Benny hasn’t seen, too many walls shielding the soft belly underneath him. Benny rubs a hand down his navel, until he reaches coarse hair. He strokes his thumb down the soft underside of Dean’s cock. His teeth become visible in a silent ‘oh’.

The first time Dean had kissed him, Benny swore he would have died of a stroke if his heart still beat. He thought it was finally it, the hunter had decided to off him, unpredictable as he was. But the monster in him knew to never show that fear. He thinks Dean could have smelled it on him anyway, through touching of lips or the way he molded their bodies against a tree. He wonders what Dean smells on him now.

Dean doesn’t like the slowness of his movements, but he’ll rest his ankles right under his cheeks and hold onto his arms and ride Benny out anyway. He kisses Dean’s face in sorry, his cheeks, his lashes, every freckle he can spot while he inches inward. It wasn’t even a question of who slipped it in, either Dean came slicked up already or he made it clear Benny could be a glorified toy that should count his blessings. Benny did. Dean doesn’t even shudder when he kisses under his jaw ,something that always gives him pause.

He isn’t small, he knows Dean enjoys that, but he takes the time to thoroughly prep Dean the way nature doesn’t accommodate them. Dean is alive in that he is impatient. He needs more than any dead thing could.

And Benny apologizes to the sunspots on his ear as he pushes the thickest part in deep. He kisses the crows feet that can’t mask the wince of discomfort the rest of his face can. His friend is growing older, another sign of life Benny thinks about often.

He doesn’t think about her when he’s with him. He wouldn’t be that disloyal, that unfaithful, (to either of them). He focuses on the way hands flex from his forearms to his shoulder, to his neck. The one that draws him down to Dean’s mouth like a safe harbor telling him to dock. He nudges sweat- sticky thighs apart with is knees, feeling Dean’s balls nestled against pubic hair, and digs under the blankets to scoop his arms around Dean’s back.

He does not think about her, but this is a bed, and his friend is on his back, and Benny only knows about ships sometimes. You let them ride the waves out gently as you take them out of harbor, and he rocks Dean down back onto his cock with the same steady gentleness. Dean pants into his mouth, a short muffled whine in the back of his throat. He wants more, and he never makes that secret. The next time he draws Dean back down, there’s a solid jolt.  Dean sighs.

There are too many lonely nights, Benny guesses, the way Dean’s heels are digging into the back of his thighs and his arms are wrapping around him trying to pull him down, but Benny can’t sink any further.

“I wanna ride you,” Dean’s voice is a hundred proof, lips grazing the shell of Benny's ear. Benny shakes his head, presses his mouth to the side of his temple in apology.

“Just give me a little longer.” His face hovers over Dean, moving out slowly. He waits for Dean’s nod, for his eyes to show permission. Benny always needed something from Dean. Tonight he feels bolder, but no less in need of allowance.

He lifts his arms and folds one on the side of Dean’s head, using the other to grab the back of Dean’s leg and unlatch it from his waist, a difficult task with a stubborn leg, keeping it spread out on the coverlet. The tip of his cock is kissing Dean’s rim, and with the falling of his arm to mirror the other, so he falls, so he sinks into Dean with a solid shove. Dean makes an o with his mouth, and Benny grins, keeps watching Dean’s face react.

There’s an advantage to missionary that Dean might not understand, and for Benny, he enjoys the controlled movements and the eye contact. He loves When Dean gets astride his lap too, but Dean feels distant then. Here, he’s between Benny’s arms and nowhere else, he’s reaching for Benny, his hands are pressing down against his skin and he has a harbor between his legs that he is begging Benny to anchor into him with little gasps and bitten lips. And Benny gets to pepper him with kisses, on the swollen  lips and edges of his mouth, and when the time comes, reach for the cock between them.

He gets to do this for Dean, hold him, be all around him, and Dean’s eyes shine up at him like tiny moons.

Benny squeezes him and begins to rub down to the paces of his thrusts. Precome dribbles over his knuckles, and Benny needs to resist the urge to taste it up, bitterness and all.

“Benny,” Dean’s breath shudders around his ear, and Benny curls his hand tighter. He nudges himself up farther, thrusting the fattest part in short movements, feeling Dean stretched around him, letting Dean feel it most. Dean grunts and come splatters out and over his stomach, over Benny’s fist.

“Good,” he huffs in the back of his throat, pulling out to slide back in at a selfish pace. He turns his head into Dean’s  neck, hollow and gasping, and thick swallows around the pull of Benny’s pushes into him. He shuts his eyes and noses at the base of Dean’s neck, where he can smell blood just under the surface of delicate skin. He digs himself into Dean, Dean clenching still around him, panting and breathing and clutching onto him, and Benny spills inside finally. It’s like a long sigh into Dean, who is slowing down from his orgasm and rousing himself into Benny’s existence again.

“Hey you,” his friend’s skin looks softer now, and his face looks to want to tuck away under the pillow soon.

He blinks slowly, long lashes kissing his cheeks for seconds.

“Wet,” Dean rasps, and Benny understands. He slowly slips out of Dean, and walks towards the bathroom, feeling jolted. He returns with the towel doused in cool water to find Dean still on his back, arm splayed out and one curled over his head. Benny gets back into bed knees first.

“You doing okay?” he wipes the towel over Dean’s sternum, down south, cleaning him up with care. He leaves his hand for last, wiping the drying semen regretfully.

“Don’t wanna think,” Dean mumbles with a sleep infused voice, and if it wasn’t so late, Benny would tease him about how that should barely have tired him out.

He offers his arm and Dean rolls right into his chest, face tucking right under Benny’s neck where his hot puffs of breath press into the hollows of his collar bone. It doesn’t matter if Benny is shorter than Dean, Dean aims for precisely where he wants to go. Benny’s left to slide another arm right around Dean, hugging him closer by the waist, hand resting at the base of his spine like a caress. 

Dean could be sweet in manner, docile like a kitten when he slept. He cuddled like no one Benny had ever been in bed with. He was those things too, apart from the salty and sometimes ashy taste to him. When Dean’s breathing drifts to sleep, Benny thinks he was amiss at the idea of Dean as a harbor. Only in the afterlife, he thinks. And even then, it’s a harbor that you can only stay with for so long.  

-

She used to laugh when he nosed between her folds, his cold breaths tickling her soft lips.                      He would kneel before the bed for her, lapping everything with exquisite sensory detail in his possession.

-

Dean tastes  different between his legs. Not badly, but different. With his saliva he wet the way for a thumb to press gently around the sensitive rim. Dean enjoyed it anyway. He had been shocked when Benny first went there, and now Benny had pushed him on the bed, grabbed an ankle and pulled his rear closer to his face. There was more than one way to make a meal out of a body.

-

He had been something of a ladies man when he got the assignments to lure the marks. He  had been recruited for his charm, he was reminded to use it.

Often times he was to blend in, tease all and let on to none. But he learned becoming a lover made things easier too. Heiresseses got lonely. He knew how to ease a hurt heart with his tongue in many ways.

It wasn’t restricted to women. Once, the most advantage he’d had was luring a first mate into confidence. What the first mate wanted from him however, made things all the easier for Benny. Anyone from his crew would have done the same.

When he only thought of the hunger, of the future food, they became nothing. He erased them when the ocean did.

-

Everything about the Dean he grew to know in purgatory frightened him, fear tinged with excitement. Then it was only excitement, green adrenaline and absinthe like effects stirring inside him.

When he overfed on blood, which he had during a particularly good few raids, everything at once felt magnificent and golden. He had felt like a king. Then, very suddenly after a nice few hours or days of bloated contentedness, something dropped. The hunger was sharper, his mind more distracted by the idea of it.

Dean was as animated as he was, movement and drive present in his person. But they were both in an afterlife. Dean was corporeal, but something about his manner made it clear he felt no more there than Benny. It was a hollowed out mission for this angel Benny heard suspicious things about.

The drop occurred  at a point where he observed Dean questioning another monster soul. He turned around after killing it, looking at Benny as if in a dare to protest. It was one of the first times Benny had observed his methods up close.

Something in Dean’s eyes caused the penny to drop. And all of a sudden Benny was sad for Dean.

Benny didn't say anything, just looked away. Dean killed the monster and then walked past Benny. They didn't meet each other's eyes for a while after that.

Without this angel fellow, Benny didn’t think Dean would care for the idea of escape at all.

-

He lost his life twice before, so he’d think it’d lose its novelty by the third time. It’s as good a reason to die as any, he tells himself, watching Dean’s eyes shine, lower lip trembling, staring at something far off in the ground. His face is contorting with piled on emotions. Benny is learning to read the lines of Dean's face. He’s only sad he won’t be able to put it to any use in the future.

-

Andrea is screaming his name until they knock her out. By that point, the saw is only halfway through his esophagus.

He thinks about how they had only just come back from the dance hall, and the fireflies had been around them on the walk home like something out of a romance book.

-

Dean shuns away from romance, but Benny is a romantic at heart. Benny knows flowers would no more be accepted than an offer to dance. But Dean’s limbs like  to hold onto something. Benny likes to give them something to hold onto.

It’s as much an apology as he can give Dean, who he’ll probably never see again. He holds the warm body snugly, and regrets that he’ll be yet another to leave Dean. But Dean couldn’t have him. Not even if he wanted to. His friend didn’t belong to himself.

His friend hefts the machete.

Dean’s eyes look the same as the had in purgatory now. Hollowed out for someone else. Benny sees himself in them. If swallowed by anyone, at least it was Dean.

-

Dean carried his death with him, and he no more blamed Dean for it than Andrea or Lizzie. The knife was never really in their hands.

-

He kills an old acquaintance, blood spraying on his cheek.

He thinks about the blood spattered and caked on Dean’s face when he first met him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for Vicky/ Alaynestone on tumblr


End file.
